November 15, 2021

Every year, I love Autumn a bit more; the brightest yellow leaves against a bruised sky, the smell of wood and leather wafting through the air. It’s an invigorating season. Fires get lit, blankets come out of storage, and soups bubble in cast iron pots. I’ve never thought of November as a beautiful month, but there’s something quite lovely about that wash of lilac, cinder and inky blue that we come to know so well at this time of year. The last leaves, red and heroic, hold on to bare branches and hydrangeas wither to a pale shade of tobacco. I wonder whether my down-to-the-very-last drop love of Fall has something to do with a new appreciation for Winter? After all, when we stop dreading what’s coming, we can enjoy what is here.


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